Waiting
by Rogue Vader
Summary: JATE. AU. A re-write of a story I wrote called "Next In Line". Jack and Kate meet in a coffee shop.


**A/N:** This is a re-write of a story that I've already posted (Next In Line). I'm leaving that one up just in case anyone likes it better, but am posting this one because I am toying around with a sequel and wanted to refine (for lack of a better word) the first chapter. Also, I have to admit I have absolutely no clue if you capitalize the names of drinks – I looked around online and decided to go for it. If I'm wrong feel free to let me know. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors. I apologize for the story in general if you end up hating it.

**A/N II:** I wrote this while listening to "Hurley's Handouts" from the LOST Season 2 CD. I love that song and it always makes me think of Jack and Kate – particularly Jack and Kate in a nicer, fluffier place in their relationship.

**Waiting**

Jack pulls back the cuff of his sleeve and looks at his watch. It is eleven forty-five and the sun overhead is hot and bright. Jack drops his arm and blows out a breath. Around him the sidewalk is alive with activity; scrambling pedestrians, ringing cellphones, and loud voices. Someone knocks his shoulder, nearly throwing him off balance. To avoid becoming a street stain, Jack moves to stand along the wall of the nearest building. He presses his back against it and thinks small, in case it will help.

He was supposed to be meeting one of his old professors for lunch right about now, but an interdepartmental emergency pushed the time back. Now Jack has an hour of free-time he didn't plan for. Not that he minds. It's just that he's never been much of a sight-seer and he worries he will spend the next hour wandering unfamiliar streets, looking for something to do. His eyes scan the street, looking for a place that will allow him to step inside and enjoy some air conditioning. He is imagining how much he would enjoy an ice-cream shake when he sees the Starbucks less than a block away. Thoughts of ice-cream melt with the heat. It's been at least three hours since his last coffee, more than time for another as far as he's concerned. Smiling, Jack takes off down the sidewalk, straightening his cuffs as he walks.

When Jack steps inside Starbucks he takes a quick scan of the inside. Room is scarce; a combination of laptops, open textbooks, and the odd section of newspaper take up the majority of tables. Most of the room's occupants are silent, deep in thought or pounding away on a keyboard. A defiant few laugh and talk loudly at a middle table, oblivious to the glare they receive from a studious young woman a table over. To Jack's right rests a stack of local and national newspapers. He grabs the nearest one and tucks it beneath his arm, the crossword should keep him busy for half an hour.

Jack gets in line behind a woman in a dark blue tank-top and khaki colored shorts. Her hair is long, past her shoulders, and it falls down her back in waves. The sight of all her bare skin reminds Jack that summer, full-blown and sweltering, is not far away. He looks down at his own suit and glances outside at the lightly dressed passersby. It's been an age since he last wore a t-shirt and shorts outside. Not for exercise, he does that all the time, but just to walk around, to enjoy the breeze and sun on his skin. Jack pulls at his Charvet necktie and promises himself that he will take a walk along a beach, bare-foot, before the summer is over. Maybe even go for a swim.

"Excuse me."

The voice of the woman in front of Jack draws his attention. He thinks she is addressing him so he looks down at her expectantly. But her back is still to him and she is craning her neck to look at the man in front of her.

The man turns around and Jack realizes he is just a kid, likely a student at the nearby Columbia. His short black hair is rumpled and the droop of his eyes reveals someone in desperate need of caffeine. Jack feels a pang of sympathetic kinship. More than one of his ex-girlfriends accused him of being something of a bear before his first cup of coffee.

But this young man's sleepy-eyed look disappears when he gets his first full look of the woman in blue. The half-dead expression dissolves and an easy, charming smile materializes in its place.

"Yes?" His voice is friendly but rough from lack of use. Jack guesses he rolled out of bed fifteen minutes ago.

The woman gestures apologetically toward the counter and, even though Jack can't see her face, he hears the smile in her voice. "Hi. I'm sorry to bother you but I've never been here before -"

"Wait, wait." The man shakes his head and puts a hand lightly on the woman's shoulder. Her words trail off. "You've never been to Starbucks?" His face has turned mock serious and he bends his knees just enough so that their eyes are level. He studies the woman's face like a doctor might when looking for signs of a concussion. Jack half expects him to ask her to follow his finger. But the hint of a smile lingers about his lips, letting the woman know his words are meant in good fun.

"Yeah, I know, I'm the last person on earth." The woman laughs and runs a hand through her dark hair. The sudden movement releases the fragrance of her shampoo into the air and it floats beneath Jack's nose. The vanilla scent is subtle but distinct and Jack finds it oddly pleasant in the way that something ordinary and usually ignored is suddenly disarmingly noticeable. Annoyed with himself, he takes a step backward.

"I'm sure you're not the last person." The young man drops his hand and smiles broadly. "There have to be," he pauses and tilts his head like a bad actor, "at least a dozen toddlers who haven't made it in here yet."

Jack feels his lip curl but the woman laughs. It sounds full and unfeigned, definitely flirty, and Jack can imagine her whole face lighting up. She likes the playful back and forth and would probably welcome more. Jack wonders if she actually likes the guy's routine or if she is just playing it polite. The thought of her buying the guy's charm is disappointing.

He isn't usually curious about strangers. As a man who values his privacy, he likes to give that courtesy to others. He never stares at someone too long and he never asks personal questions of people he doesn't know. But he can't deny that he isn't curious now. Maybe it's the woman's pleasant laugh echoing in his head or the hint of her shampoo lingering around his nose. Or maybe it's the easy way she interacts with a stranger, the feminine confidence that laces her voice. Inexplicably, he wants to know more about her. And he wants her to turn around so he can see her face, match it with her voice.

Jack tells himself that if he has any decency he will turn away, or at least try to pretend he isn't actively listening to their conversation. Maybe hum a tune back in his throat to distort the sound of their voices. But it isn't an easy task when the two aren't doing anything to prevent their conversation from being broadcast to the entire room.

"Thank goodness." The woman shakes her head. "My friends kept telling me I was the last. I was getting a complex."

"Nothing like making it in by the skin on your teeth. Seriously, though, I just started coming here a few months ago. A buddy of mine got me hooked and now I'm here every day."

"Every day, huh? It's that good?" She sounds teasingly skeptical, inviting him to keep the conversation going. Jack stares hard at the front of the line, not sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes. Two more people to go before they will have to order.

"It's absolutely essential," the man continues. Jack wonders if the guy has a Starbucks apron at home in his closet. For sure he could have a great future working infomercials. "I don't know how I functioned without it."

The woman crosses her arms over her chest and tips her head to one side. "So are you going to take pity on me and recommend something? Or will I have to fend for myself?"

"Oh – well..." The man looks back to the counter. He twists his fingers in the hair at the back of his neck and Jack gets his first glimpse of a person beneath the cocky facade. When the man turns back his face is scrunched in apology. "I just get their regular coffee, myself. It's too bitter for some people, but I like it strong." He clenches his fist and the normal person disappears. "But my friend gets a drink - the...something with caramel in it."

Jack watches the kid fumble with his memory, impatience and annoyance simmering. When he's twisted in the wind long enough, Jack leans forward and surprises the three of them by jumping in to the conversation. "Maybe a Caramel Macchiato?"

"Sorry?" The woman turns to look at Jack and her clear green eyes are the first thing he sees. Her face is pink from the sun and freckles stand out across the bridge of her nose and along the edges of her cheeks. She is young, probably college aged. Jack can see why the young man is trying to wow her with his brand of humor.

"Caramel Macchiato," he repeats and looks from her to the man to keep from staring. "It's not too bitter, not too sweet."

"Yeah, I think that's it. It sounds right." Jack watches him bob his head and hopes he doesn't go to Columbia.

"Alright, I'll give it a shot. Thank you." The woman smiles and it is so wide and friendly that Jack smiles back without consciously deciding to.

Conversation dwindles after that, the two perhaps self-conscious over their audible exchange. Both turn to face the counter, close but not quite standing next to each other. When they speak it is in short, inaudible murmurs, each leaning in toward the other's ear. When they finally order, separately, Jack takes the paper from beneath his arm and snaps it open, glancing over the day's headlines.

Five minutes later Jack is at a table doing the crossword, his coffee beside his left hand. He looks over the clues, trying to decipher what the day's theme is. He alternately chews on his pen and drums it quietly against his thigh. Along the paper's edge he jots down first guesses, crosses them out, then writes them again. When he gets to a five letter word for a trout basket, he puts his chin in his hand and stares blankly at the chair across from him.

A woman's laugh snaps Jack's concentration. It is the woman in blue. She and the young man are at a table less than ten feet away from Jack. So far he has been able to avoid looking in their direction. But now, alert and belatedly curious, Jack wonders how she likes the coffee he recommended. He heard her order the Caramel Macchiato but never looked to see if enjoyed it. He watches her now as she takes one sip, then another. No grimace follows and she doesn't scrunch her face in distaste. It might not be a home run but it is good enough, and probably better than anything the guy would have recommended. The satisfaction of the thought makes Jack smile.

At that moment the woman glances past her companion's shoulder and catches Jack staring. The man is speaking animatedly, his hands waving, but for that second she looks only at Jack. Despite his embarrassment, Jack does not lower his gaze. It is an odd moment and suddenly Jack wants the black-haired man and his oily smile gone. Not for any particular reason, he has no plans to start a conversation with a woman he will never see again. Maybe he just wants imagine, even if only for the space of the next five minutes, that she is a woman he could get to know. He finds her attractive, he can't deny it. But she only exists inside this coffee shop, a place a thousand miles away from home.

When she finally looks away Jack shakes his head and returns to the crossword puzzle with determined focus. He flattens the wrinkles in the paper, makes the folds crisper, and tightens his grip on the pen.

A half hour later Jack notices the young man rise from the table. Jack watches him from the corner of his eye, hears him say goodbye while the young woman nods and smiles. The two speak for only a few seconds before the man throws his cup in a garbage and walks out the door. Jack looks to see if the woman's eyes follow the man as he leaves, but she does not.

Jack checks his watch. Fifteen minutes before he has to be at his old professor's office, time for a leisurely walk if he leaves immediately. Decided, Jack re-folds the paper, with its empty crossword, and stuffs his pen in the pocket of his jacket. On his way to the garbage he passes the nameless woman's table. There is a book in her hand now, a paperback he didn't see her carrying earlier. Her head is tipped to one side and she rubs the fingers of her free hand back and forth across her forehead.

Jack's steps begin to drag and then stop altogether. He isn't sure what makes him do it, but instead of walking by he sets his empty cup down beside her.

The effect is like a gunshot going off inside the small room. Buried in her book, the woman shrieks at the noise so close to her ear. Jack watches with horror as she jerks sideways, nearly tumbling from her chair. Her flailing hands send her book flying, it bounces off Jack's chest and smacks against the ground. Jack rockets into action, lunging forward he grabs her forearm. Already off-balance, her momentum nearly pulls Jack over her chair and onto the ground with her. But he manages to toss his paper onto the table and grab her with his other hand, steadier with the two-handed grip. He braces his leg against the chair to keep it from sliding and gently pulls her back into a secure sitting position before he lets go.

Around them the coffee shop is silent with surprise. Heads have whipped in their direction and people crane their necks to see what could possibly cause a woman to scream inside a Starbucks. Jack can only imagine what kind of spectacle they made and he looks over his shoulder and gives an apologetic half smile to the room in general. Gradually, with the best of the commotion over, the patrons turn back to their own tables.

"I am so sorry." The woman's face is lowered and Jack dips his head to try to look her in the eye. She saves him the effort by leaning back in her chair and throwing a hand over her face.

"Wow. That was embarrassing." She drops her hand and looks up at him. Her cheeks are scarlet.

"I'm sorry," Jack says again. He feels like a first class jerk as he bends down to pick up her book. It suffered damage during the carnage and Jack, as if to make amends, unfolds the bent pages and smooths the cover before he sets it on the table beside her. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay. I do that a lot, to be honest." A smile of real amusement pulls at her mouth. "I should probably be apologizing to you. You're white as a sheet."

Jack refrains from telling her he is just a pale guy and hovers awkwardly beside her table, not sure whether to apologize further or say goodbye. Thankfully she takes the decision away from him.

"So, you were stopping to see me?" she asks.

It is not what he was expecting. Jack chuckles, he can't help it. If she were upset he would feel guilty, now he just feels...pleased. It is probably the wrong word but nothing else quite fits. After scaring her nearly to death, he thought she would be too irritated or embarrassed to say much to him. He had been planning how quickly he could slink out the door even as he pulled her into her seat. But her good humor strengthens Jack's resolve. He sets a hand on his coffee cup and bounces it lightly against the table. "That was the plan," he admits, ruefully. "I, uh...I had a question for you."

"Well, now I'm curious." She straightens her shoulders, collected again without lingering self-consciousness. When Jack doesn't speak right away she raises her eyebrows.

Jack scratches the back of his neck. "I was...is this really your first time here or was that a line?"

She doesn't understand him at first. Her brow furrows with confusion and she leans toward him. "I'm sorry, what – oh." Enlightenment dawns and she smiles sheepishly.

"So I was obvious?"

Jack shrugs. "Maybe a little."

Found out, she laughs. Jack likes the sound of it even better when it's because of something he said. "I had to give it a try," she explains. "I'd been tracking him for weeks."

"Weeks, huh? Did it work?" Jack's hand is still resting on the rim of his coffee cup. He spins it waiting for her answer.

"Oh, it worked." She shrugs. "Probably better than I wanted it to." She clasps her hands in her lap and leans back in her chair. It's easier for her to look up at him that way.

"And the Caramel Macchiato?" Jack nods at her drink.

"Yes." She lifts the cup and shakes it, showing him it's empty. "It was pretty good. But since we're being honest, I prefer a White Chocolate Mocha with lots of caramel and whipped cream."

Jack smiles and looks down at his feet. A drink like that would send him into sugar shock. "Ah. So, you have a sweet tooth."

"I've had the cavities to prove it, unfortunately." She starts to say something more, hesitates, and then gestures to the chair beside her. "Want to sit?"

Jack doesn't think it's a good idea. "Sure," he says. He sits down across the table from her. "I'm Jack, by the way. Jack Shephard."

"Nice to meet you, Jack. My name's Kate." Jack waits for her last name but she doesn't offer it. Instead she reaches across the table and shakes his hand. Her grip is firm and her eyes hold his easily. If he doubted she was a woman who gets what she wants, he doesn't now.

Jack settles back in his chair with a pinch of guilt. He really shouldn't stay, he's going to have to rush to make lunch on time. Another minute, maybe two, is all he has if he doesn't want to end up apologizing to his old professor. But he's not really concerned, not the way he should be.

"Thanks for jumping in back there." Kate gestures over her shoulder with her thumb. "I was worried it was going to get awkward. Or that I'd have to break my cover," she adds.

"Yeah. I thought he might need help. I was just trying to smooth the way." Jack makes a gliding motion with his hand. He would prefer to say he thought the guy was an idiot and ask Kate what could interest her about him. But Jack keeps thoughts like those to himself. "So, are you a student at Columbia?" He asks a question he thinks is safe.

"Yes." Kate smiles at his guess. "But I graduate in a few weeks. What about you?"

"Am I a student?" Jack chuckles and shakes his head. "No. I used to be. I'm actually back in town to see an old professor of mine."

"Oh, yeah? So if you're from out of town, where's home?"

Jack hesitates, reluctant to admit he lives so far away. It's an insignificant detail, really, his living on the other side of the country. But it's a dose of reality he doesn't want to inject into the conversation. "I live in Los Angeles."

"Wow." Kate tilts her head back and looks suitably impressed. "That's quite a trip."

Jack thinks she sounds disappointed and tries to read her face, but all he sees is polite interest. He shrugs. "The flight's a little more than five hours. I've been on worse. What about you? From the area?"

"Iowa, actually. You've definitely got me beat for distance."

He wants to ask where she grew up but something in her face keeps him silent on the topic. The last thing he wants to be remembered as is the stranger who scared her half to death in a Starbucks and then made her talk about depressing things. Hedging his bets, he opts for a topic all impending college graduates must face. "Are you going to grad school or will you be entering the working world?"

Kate shifts in her chair and Jack knows he's hit a nerve. He tries not to smile, remembering that discomfort all too well. Ten years ago all the adults in his life were asking him what he wanted to do with his life, assuming he would tell them he wanted to be a doctor before waiting to hear his answer. His father refused to consider any alternative. For two years he dreaded family functions, or any place the stress-inducing question might pop up.

"Don't worry," Jack holds up a hand, "I won't judge you if you say you don't know."

"Well, I know a little bit." There is a conspiratorial glint in her eye. Like she knows that once upon a time this question haunted him, too. "Ideally, I'd like to go to veterinary school."

"But not yet?"

"Not yet." Kate shakes her head but doesn't elaborate. "So, we know about what I want to do. But what do you do? Out in Los Angeles?"

Kate looks genuinely interested. Jack doesn't know if she is or if she's just good at pretending. Part of him doesn't care what the truth is. In a few minutes he will walk out the door and never see her again; until then he will enjoy her company.

"I'm a doctor. A spinal surgeon at St. Sebastian Hospital," he amends. It makes him feel awkward, specifying that. Normally he doesn't mind talking about his profession, he's proud of what he does. But somehow it feels like he's bragging, talking himself up to impress her. "It runs in the family," he adds, as if that will make what he does seem less important.

"A kid I grew up with is pre-med at Notre Dame. Every once in while he calls me to talk him off the ledge."

Jack knows the feeling. "Yeah, it can be pretty rough. But you get through it. And then the real stress begins."

"I don't think he'll want to hear that. Maybe I'll buy him a few stress balls for graduation."

"He'll probably need more than a few. I had those tapes of the ocean. The ones with the waves crashing against the shore and the sea-gulls. I played them every night. It drove my roommate crazy."

"And they actually helped?"

Jack nods, remembering. "It was either those or the vodka."

Kate chuckles and leans her forearms on the table. She lifts one hand and rests it on her book, her thumb playing with an edge of the cover. The smile she gives him is different suddenly, quieter than before but somehow speculative. Like she is making decisions about him. Jack isn't sure how to feel about that so he looks at his watch to hide his discomfort. It is quarter to one. Time, past time, for him to leave.

"I'm sorry, but I have to get going. My old professor will be waiting." The look he gives her is both apologetic and regretful. He reaches across the table and shakes her hand again, notices how soft and warm her skin feels before he lets it go. "It was nice meeting you, Kate."

"It was nice meeting you, too."

Jack stands up and gathers his things. It's foolish, but he takes his time with it, precisely folding his paper and tucking it securely beneath his arm. He grabs his cup of coffee and then offers to throw hers away. She hands it to him with a murmured thanks. Then, when he can't justify dragging his heels any longer, he starts to walk away.

"Jack."

He turns back and Kate is standing, the fingers of one hand playing nervously with the other. She takes a deep breath but doesn't speak right away. Instead her shoulders drop, like a balloon deflating.

"Have a safe trip back home." Her smile is forcefully cheerful.

Jack dips his chin. "Good luck with veterinary school."

Kate nods. "Thanks. If I'm ever in Los Angeles I'll look you up."

"Well, if you're ever in Los Angeles I'll take you out for a White Chocolate Mocha. Extra caramel and whipped cream." He doesn't mean it the way it sounds, not seriously. Or maybe he does. He can't tell and isn't sure he wants to. But his motives don't matter either way. Kate will never come to Los Angeles. Or, if she does, she will never look him up. Case closed. All that's left for him to do is walk away.

"You know I'm going to hold you to that." She sounds teasing but Jack thinks she might be serious, too. Even if it's only a little.

Jack smiles and stares at the ground, torn between leaving for good and staying just a little bit longer. Long enough to ask for a number where he can call her, or maybe get her last name. Either will do, both would be nice. He looks up and goes so far as to take a breath to make the words. That's when he knows for sure he's stayed too long. Reality and practicality worm their way into his brain. Jack breathes out. One side of his mouth curves upward in a smile that is neither happy nor sad, but a bit of both at the same time. He nods once at Kate and finally walks toward the door. It feels like a mistake but he doesn't turn around.


End file.
